


The Illogicalities of Emotion

by Cecil_Salvatore



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies), Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Academy Era, Alternate Universe, Constructive Criticism Welcome, I Don't Even Know, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, I'm not proficient in Star Trek lore please don't hate me, Love at First Sight, Minor Hikaru Sulu/Ben Sulu, Multi, Not Beta Read, OOC Kirk, Self-Indulgent, Slow To Update, Starfleet Academy, on Jim's and Janice's part, pride and prejudice au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-23
Updated: 2018-02-02
Packaged: 2019-03-08 14:39:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,910
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13460358
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cecil_Salvatore/pseuds/Cecil_Salvatore
Summary: Loosely based on Pride and Prejudice.Having very recently come out of a short lived marriage, love is the last thing on Leonard McCoy's mind, but, when his charming friend, Jim Kirk, returns from a training mission and is suddenly best friends with the brusque and detached Mr. Spock, McCoy finds himself caught up in the romantic entanglements of his closest friends, and becomes the object of interest to the very Vulcan he claims to despise.





	1. Disastrous First Impressions

**** Chapter Character List:

**Leonard Horatio McCoy** in the role of **Miss Elizabeth Bennet**

**S'chn T'gai Spock** in the role of **Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy**

**Janice Rand** in the role of **Miss Jane Bennet**

**James Tiberius Kirk** in the role of **Mr. Charles Bingley**  


**Christine Chapel** replacing  **Miss Lydia Bennet**

**~•~**

It was a fact generally accepted amongst those seeking to pursue careers as members of Starfleet medical personnel that the life of a Xenobiology major at the Academy was remarkably, and most disappointingly, painfully dull.

Sure, one could occasionally expect to be thrown into a tizzy by some foolhardy red shirt bleeding plentifully-- or, perhaps on a more eventful day, oozing questionable green slime out of one of the body's many unpleasant orifices (which was admittedly all of them once they began exuding said slime)— all over the Med Bay's nice clean floors, but even that became almost rehearsed after the fifth or so time one was rushed to deal with the matter.

Even more disheartening than this short-lived excitement was the simple reality that, on more regular days, many an aspiring doctor, nurse, counsellor, psychologist, or psychiatrist often found themselves imprisoned in either their personal quarters or the library, studying PADD upon PADD of increasingly alien and steadily complicated biology, culture, and planetary conditioning just to keep up with their heavy workload and ever-changing field of study; so one could hardly blame them for the riotous hullabaloo that came at the announcement of the early return of one U.S.S. Valiant and, more significantly, the welcoming party that was to be held in honour of the skilled Cadets, Academy personnel, and, very unexpectedly, foreign dignitaries that had boarded the vessel on its return trip home.

“Oh, Dr. McCoy! Have you heard the news?” chimed the pretty lilting voice of Nurse Christine Chapel as she waved her dear friend and work partner over to join her at her chosen lunch table for the day. Alongside her were her other companions, none of whom were strangers to Dr. McCoy, but most of which could simply be categorised as mere acquaintances to him rather than friends. Regardless, he slid in beside her and Dr. Janice Rand, sparing the latter a fond grin, before turning his attention to his nurse and stating that, yes, like every other person who had access to a computer, he had, in fact, “heard the news.”

The doctor's usual dryness seemed to have no affect on Nurse Chapel's exuberance, however, as she touched her fingertips together in something just short of a child-like clap and besot her other, more willing associates in discussing the coming night's preparations.

“There’ll be good food, and music, and dancing, and, of course, the others!” she threw a highly pleased look at the equally enthralled psychiatrist seated opposite her, nodding vigorously as Dr. McCoy continued chewing lazily on his food, contenting himself with basking in their good cheer and laughter. It was much more welcomed an experience than facing the nurse's displeasure or wrath, which, he could confirm from witnessing in person, was nothing short of terrifying.

And, in general, it was nice seeing Christine happy again, especially considering the similarities in aspects of their pasts, and resulting countenances, that had lead to them being so close in the first place.  
“Your friend—Jim, I think?—is returning, too, right, Leonard?” asked Dr. Rand suddenly, pushing her light curls away from her food for the third time since he'd seated himself down. “You must be looking forward to seeing him again.”

“Yeah, him and his hundred and one allergies that he’s probably added to by now,” replied Dr. McCoy with a scoff as Janice laughed. “If I’m lucky, he may even have contracted another alien STD that's turned his hair orange or something."

Dr. Rand shook her head, but did not attempt to rise to Cadet Kirk's defense, knowing, in passing, of his infamous sexual exploits and… unconventional methods at diplomacy. She also knew that, for the other doctor to speak so frankly about him, they must be rather close.

“He does get the job done, though. They’re even saying that he has something to do with why the higher ups are with them.”

“Oh, I’ll bet he does,” griped the doctor as he stabbed passionately at a bit of sliced meat on his plate. “Probably lost an arm in the process.”

Despite Leonard’s personal grievances and skepticism, however, even he could not truly admit to himself of being against the event or of seeing his friend again so soon, and the normally headache inducing day of long winded classes and needlessly roundabout text was sped up considerably by the staff and students' quiet excitement for the night's gala which buzzed through the day's stale air like electricity. By the time their final classes had rolled around, everyone was impatient to be released and allowed to prepare for what was, for once, going to be an enjoyable night away from study.

Dr. McCoy occupied the slow, stuffy walk to grand Starfleet ballroom by fiddling with his blouse's tight collar and grumbling, under his breath, on the absurdity on being made to wear his dress uniform when any other suit would have met the formality requirement just as well and twice as comfortably. Beside him, his two companions, Dr. Rand and Nurse Chapel, silently agreed but found slight solace in the fact that Starfleet had no say over how they wore their hair nor makeup and were both quietly proud at how nicely both had turned out for each of them. Dr. McCoy's glowing compliments at the beginning of their walk, when he had been in much better spirits, only fortified their confidence and they were not likely to be so quickly dampened by the ill fashion of their dresses.

When they finally arrived at the splendidly decorated hall, Christine detached herself from the party, wandering off to find a companion for the night, and graciously allowing Janice to keep the doctor and his connections within the esteemed Red Squad for herself, for, though Leonard was exceedingly accommodating and far sweeter a companion than most, he did not date and neither lady could see herself with him in any form other than friendship even if he did. Janice looped her arm through his and smiled cheerily up at him, her radiance made all the more appealing under the soft glow of the elegant chandeliers above.

“Shall we go looking for your friend, Leonard?” She asked, glancing around the room briefly before returning her attention to him.

“Eager to get away from me, huh?” Her escort chuckled lowly in response, waving away Janice’s hurried protests to the contrary and weaving through the crowd of identically attired people.

After several minutes of wandering the floor, and tiptoeing to monitor the couples dancing at the center of the room, with no sign of James Kirk to be seen, Leonard was ready to concede defeat. He turned to Janice and was just about to propose his thought that, perhaps, the Red Squad had yet to make their appearance yet, when a warm hand gripped his shoulder and he turned to find himself face-to-face, at last, with the bright blue eyes of his broadly grinning friend.

Unsurprisingly, the Cadet was not alone, though, very surprisingly, his partner was not a beguiling woman, alien or otherwise, as Leonard had suspected would have accompanied him that evening, but one of the Academy’s professors. The man who was, in all ways except passing knowledge, a stranger to McCoy, watched with an air of detached curiosity as Kirk embraced the doctor, as overly familiar as he had always been, and continued watching as McCoy, in a grand show of reluctance, returned the boy’s affection with a gruff pat. When he and Jim had separated and made their usual exchange of less than cordial cordialities, Leonard threw a quick questioning glance towards the hovering professor, arching his brow skeptically at his friend and, thus, inviting introduction.

“Oh! Bones, this is Spock. Spock, Bones- uh, Dr. McCoy.”

The doctor almost made to extend his hand, before recalling that Vulcans, the alien race to which Mr. Spock belonged to, attempted to have as little physical contact with other beings as possible, due to their telepathic abilities that were exercised through touch. Instead, he satisfied himself by nodding curtly at the other man, saying something to the equal effect of, “Hey, how you doin’?” before belatedly tacking on a “Sir,” at the end. He turned his gaze swiftly back to Jim for further explanation on when and how he and the professor had come to be in so familiar an acquaintance, only to realise that Jim was occupied with the task of expanding his connections by making himself comfortable with Dr. Janice Rand, who seemed amused by his attention.

“Oh, you’re a psychiatrist? That’s really, um. That’s really cool.”

Leonard found his gaze resting on the pair for far longer than what would usually be considered polite, his lips parting incredulously as he listened on to their hesitant conversation and to Jim Kirk’s oddly stumbling sentences, the object of his earlier perplexity all but forgotten at his peripherals.

“There were quite a few interesting, ah…”

“Inhabitants?”

“Yeah, um, inhabitants. On-On-On Alpha, Alpha… Spock, what was the name of the planet we were on again?”

He turned his gaze briefly towards the Vulcan, whose arched brow looked about ready to disappear into his silken black fringe at the enquiry, before his eyes were drawn back to Janice, as though he found it quite impossible to look away. It was the most peculiar behavior the young man had ever exhibited, and Leonard was beginning to quite seriously consider drawing his tricorder and ordering him report for a medical examination at once.

“Alpha Carinae II, Jim.”

Involuntarily, Leonard’s sheer confusion was returned sharply towards Mr. Spock and his familiar address of the Cadet, but it was quickly dismissed for later investigation in favour of the fumbling couple whose uncertain, yet seemingly inevitable, romance was unfolding before his very eyes.

“Yes, that. There were quite a few interesting inhabitants on Alpha Carinae II. I’d love to tell you about them—if you want—while we, uh, dance…?”

The disposition of the young lady, which had, until then, remained staunchly at either end of endearment and bemusement, promptly fell in surprise, and her eyes searched his earnest blue ones for any hint of deception or teasing. She spared her previous companion an uncertain glance and, upon receiving his silent acquiescence in the form of a meaningful lift of both his brows, at length, agreed. The two departed immediately towards the center of the hall, falling easily into place alongside all the other finely matched couple, and, though still rather hesitant about the nature of their newly found companionship, soon found mirth in their conversation, Jim Kirk’s usual self-assurance and charisma evidently returning to him.

“Well, would ya look at that.” said Leonard in disbelief, more so to himself than Mr. Spock, who gave his opinion of the matter, regardless, inclining his body towards the other with a slight tilt of his head.

“I hardly see the cause for your astonishment, Doctor. From my knowledge of Cadet Kirk’s character, such behavior is far from uncommon for him."

“You’ve seen ‘im reduced to a bumbling fifteen-year-old at his first barn dance before, Mr. Spock?”

A troubled expression, or the closest variant of the such that a Vulcan could afford, crossed the other’s features, and he carefully assured the doctor that he had not ever seen Cadet Kirk regress in age, irrespective of his social conduct or location, and remarked that he did not believe such a feat to be possible of human biology. This response, while not graced by rejoinder, did earn him an inscrutable stare from Dr. McCoy who, once satisfied by whatever his eyes told him, promptly made a short hum, glanced to the side, and began walking briskly through the crowd. Having not been given direct leave to depart, Mr. Spock followed along some paces behind him, logically deciding that, as he was unsure whether he should close the gap or allow the doctor to depart, as his long strides would suggest he so desired, he would settle on a compromise between the two which would allow him to mingle seamlessly with the masses if the latter were true and keep the doctor within his sights if not.

“So,” said Dr. McCoy, neither turning around nor slowing, “When did you and Jim become so… Chummy?”

Mildly surprised at his first assumptions being proven the contrary, the professor fell into swift step beside him.

“I am inclined to believe that there were several instances on board the Valiant that contributed to my closer relations with Cadet Kirk,” replied he carefully, “and our interactions in between such events, while not being of particular note, did, in many ways, strengthen our camaraderie. As such, I do not think it possible to give an accurate estimate of when we so achieved the 'chumminess' of which you refer to at present.”

“Hm, so during your trip, basically.”

Mr. Spock stilled momentarily at the doctor's careless, but not necessarily incorrect, oversimplification, studying his gait and apathetic countenance as though struck by the other’s easy way of mind. “… Yes,” he agreed finally, speeding up again, as his own thoughts attempted to arrange his perspective on Cadet Kirk's closest friend.

The doctor said nothing else until he had arrived at his destination by the drink bar, only resuming speech after he had settled his order with the bartender and affirmed that his unlikely escort did not personally wish for any refreshments.

“So, correct me if I'm wrong, but you teach Xenolinguistics, don't you, Mr. Spock?”

“You are correct, I instruct the advanced phenology class alongside interspecies ethics.”

“Yeah, that'd 'splain why I'd never seen you before. Both those things aren't exactly my speciality, as you’ve no doubt noticed.”

The Vulcan simply quirked an eyebrow in return, which, for a reason that eluded him, made Leonard snort, though not in the derisive manner that Mr. Spock was customary to receiving from humans. As the man sipped the golden liquid sloshing in the glass he held, the Vulcan privately agreed with the sentiment that he found neither the doctor's poor enunciation nor his cantankerous nature appropriate for either of the subjects he taught, but, as he doubted voicing such thoughts would be very lead to a warm reception, he instead stood awkwardly by and watched the whirling couples on the floor, all much more comfortable with their current positions than he.

“Your speciality is in anatomical and forensic pathology, is it not? I believe you are the top of your class in the subject.” Mr. Spock asked at last, uncharacteristically finding the usually appreciated quiescence too much to bear beside the doctor, who seemed to have a number of unvoiced opinions about him that he ached to uncover. He attributed this rather curious and unprecedented interest of his in the older man's cogitations to the fact that Dr. McCoy was a personal friend of Jim's, and he would probably be spending a considerable amount of time around him if he was to continue his association with the young Cadet, which Spock planned to do. It was, therefore, only logical to ascertain what sort of person the doctor was early into their correspondence. He also admitted that he found the doctor’s guarded and unpredictable nature, so different to the simpering and forcefully congenial characters of other humans he had been acquainted with over his years on Earth, fascinating.

McCoy paused in his sipping for a second, his brows furrowing close together as he swallowed. He eyed the other man from the corners of his gaze before turning to him properly. “That’s right. How d'you know that?”

“Dr. M'Benga is a fairly close associate of mine due to his knowledge of Vulcan physiology. He has often spoke highly of you and your capabilities, going so far as to admit that he is of the opinion that you will make one of the greatest surgeons Starfleet will ever produce.”

A pause followed before the doctor roughly cleared his throat and turned away, muttering under his breath that Dr. M’Benga always did have a way of exaggerating his praise (something which Mr. Spock knew was not at all habitual of the good doctor) and took a long swallow of his drink, draining the glass in a single fluid motion. Mr. Spock almost assumed that his account had somehow offended the doctor, and was about to make his due apology, when he noticed that the other’s cheeks were a dusty and, admittedly quite pleasing, shade of pink. 

“Most fascinating,” thought Mr. Spock to himself as was gripped by the desire to enrich the hue, or, at least, to have the doctor’s dark eyes resting on his form again so that he might better gage the affect his words had on him. He had witnessed the phenomenon before on other humans and on young Vulcan children, but had never quite found the reaction quite so intriguing, which, even more curious than his illogical urges, did not disturb him as much as he knew should. Before he could find the words necessary to achieve any further result, or uncover the reasons behind his own unusual behavior, however, Dr. McCoy spoke up again, his mouth stretching into a grin which made his eyes shine and Spock’s breath catch.

“Christine, over here!”

Mr. Spock glanced up to where McCoy’s attention had been diverted to find an attractive blonde lady pushing her way over to them, her locks falling neatly around her neck in soft waves while she wore a smile that made her appear younger than the lines on her face would suggest she was. When her eyes fell on him, her fair skin coloured up, similarly to how Dr. McCoy had merely a few seconds ago. Strangely, Mr. Spock did not find this as appealing or as compelling an observation as he had earlier. He made note to inspect his biased reaction in greater detail later on.

“Hello, Dr. McCoy,” said the lady, slightly breathless upon her arrival, then, turning to the Vulcan and dropping her tone as well as her gaze in a show of what could only be shyness, “Mr. Spock.”

“I do not believe we have been introduced, Miss…?”

“Oh! Chapel! Christine Chapel. I’m a nurse.”

“The best God damned nurse the universe has ever seen, more like,” declared the doctor as he wrapped an arm around her and smiled. “I’m sure you’ll find her very agreeable company, Mr. Spock.” He dipped his head to whisper something into Nurse Chapel’s ear, which made her titter and blush deeper, before leaving without a second glance at the Vulcan. Mr. Spock found his eyes curiously following Dr. McCoy’s form into the crowd until Nurse Chapel’s high tones reminded him of her presence.

“So, Mr. Spock. Do you dance?”

Jim found the professor and nurse in that same position some moments later, though whatever semblance of a conversation that might have been conducted between the two appeared to have crawled into a hole and died long before the sprightly man’s arrival. Christine threw him a grateful look when he had sidled up to them and made her hasty escape, only sparing the Vulcan a brief nod, which she did not wait to see returned, before practically running into the throng. Spock, on his part, was looking very severe.

“Well,” said Jim, resting his arm on the bar’s countertop and giving his friend a pointed look, “she was pretty.”

“Her countenance was of acceptable aesthetic qualities, yes.”

Jim resisted the deep urge he had to roll his eyes, but did not bother suppressing his sigh of discontentment. “C’mon, Spock. What happened?"

Spock turned his gaze to him directly, arching his brow in a meaningful gesture. “Nothing happened, Cadet Kirk. In fact, I do believe that was the crux of the matter.”

“Yeah, yeah. All right. Didn’t you try talking to her or anything?”

“Nurse Chapel did make several attempts at dialogue, but, as I felt her topics to be of an inconsequential and dull nature, I kept my responses succinct. It is a shame that her wit did not match her beauty or I believe I would have found her a more than adequate companion.” He turned to Jim, whose expression spoke of wry displeasure as he chewed on the inside of his cheek, not quite looking at Spock any longer. “However, I find such misfortune to be quite commonplace of Terran medicine and their practitioners.”

For a beat, Jim did not say a word, simply shaking his head and humming in thought. Then, in a voice terse with something akin to annoyance, asked “And did you scare Bones off with that special charm of yours, too?”

“No, but he certainly has now.”

The two men looked up, startled, at the doctor’s harsh voice which was tight and clipped by barely controlled anger. His features, which had remained fairly relaxed all evening, were marred by deep cutting lines that ran across his forehead, as prominent as the cracks in an injured porcelain antique. His eyes were ablaze with fury.

Jim hardly dared to say a word, reaching towards his friend with a silent plea, only to be waved aside. The doctor said nothing for a very long time, keeping his eyes locked firmly Mr. Spock, who met it with a cool indifference he did not truly feel. Then, at last, he took a step towards the Vulcan, arms crossed tight over his chest, but expression verging more on incorrigible neutrality rather than seething rage.

“Y’know, Mr. Spock,” he said, voice unusually levelled, “when I said that Christine would make a great date, I meant in all senses.” He paced leisurely in front of the two, Jim watching him with a slight fear. “In fact, if you actually bothered using those pointy ears of yours to listen to her, I bet you’d realise that her intellect is far more than on par with yours.”

“Bones—”

But the young man’s attempt at appeasing his friend went quite unnoticed, and Dr. McCoy surged spiritedly on.

“I still remember the words she used to describe her ex-fiancee to me, it was quite a rousing speech. I believe she called him the most disagreeable, arrogant, impudent, insufferable, impertinent of- oh, what was it again, Jim?”

“Bones, please.”

“No, wait. I remember,” he bared his teeth to Spock in an unsettling grin, “Of fuckers. Well, I think I’ve finally found someone who rivals him for that spot, don’t you, Mr. Spock?” And with that, the doctor promptly turned heel and marched resolutely away, muttering indistinguishably under his breath as Jim stared after him, looking quite pale, and Mr. Spock raised an impassive eyebrow.

“… I do believe that I may have insulted Dr. McCoy.”

Jim turned slowly to face the Vulcan, lips pursed into a thin line. “Believe it or not, Spock, I’m inclined to agree.” He stood up with a slight bounce, stretching his arms forward. “Right, then. I’m gonna go handle damage control. You just—“ he waved his hand in a vague motion about Mr. Spock’s uptight figure—“sit here and think about what you’ve done.” Mr. Spock arched his brow, but said nothing as he turned back towards the group of alien dignitaries in the distance, watching them with keen interest.

“Bones! Bones, wait!”

Leonard picked up his pace, moving quickly through the waves of people who squawked and glared after him in deep indignation and injury without care. He had no desire to speak with Jim at the present time, blaming the boyish Cadet in part for his soured temper for having introduced him to the professor in the first place, but he could not outrun Kirk even if he'd had a ten minute head start and soon found the blond right by his side.

“Bones, listen. That wasn’t what it sounded like.”

“Oh, really? So that damned pointy eared bastard didn't just insult my nurse's intelligence and the competence of the entire medical service while you listened without a peep of denial?”

Jim held his hands up, palms facing forward placatingly, in surrender. “Firstly, I don’t think that’s very fair. I was going to tell him off, but then you came by and did it anyway. And, secondly, okay, maybe it was what it sounded like, but, Bones,” he quickened his steps so that he came to stand directly in his friend's path, catching him by the shoulders and forcing Leonard to look into his fiery, sincere blue eyes. “Bones, Spock saved my life. Several times. I’m not saying that makes what he said okay, but, please. Just give him another shot.”

Leonard considered, for a moment, pointing out just how prone Jim was to finding himself in difficult situations that often proved fatalistic to his health, and that to expect the doctor to find friendship with every single person who had directly or indirectly saved him from, essentially, himself was quite impossible; but Jim Kirk did always have a way of softening his snippy demeanor.

Rolling his eyes and giving the boy a long suffering sigh, Leonard said, “All right, fine. But don’t expect me to do it tonight.” Jim's strained expression grew bright with pleasure, and he stated that he would not expect that of the most affable of persons, least of all the doctor.

“You gonna stay a lot longer?” He asked, obviously seeking to turn Bones’s attentions away from the Vulcan and his err.

“Nah. I’ve had enough of all these stuffy upper crusters for one night.” Tired of maintaining the pretense of comfort, and seeing no reason to prolong his displeasure under the guise of forced politeness, he undid the magnetic clasp of his blouse collar and pushed his hands into the pockets of his trousers, which, as a testament to how poorly designed the suit was, made him look all the better. “What about you? Gonna go chat up some other poor girl?”

Jim's step just barely faltered at the question and he prevaricated from answering by smoothening his already straight hair and wiping his perfectly dry palms on his trousers twice. “Yeah, no,” he finally said, looking slightly sheepish as the highs of his cheeks became tinged a faint red, “Jan and I figured we'd go to some place quieter. And less formal.”

Leonard stopped in his tracks and turned a sharp, severe gaze onto his friend, who was only mildly taken aback by the reception and had the grace to, at least, seem slightly abashed. “Jim,” began the doctor in a tone that more than implied his young companion was about to be given a rather long and much deserved lecture on the gentle and rapturous nature of one Dr. Janice Rand who would not understand his propensity for spending a single intimate night with a lady and never speaking a word to her after—a lecture that Jim was most certainly going to ignore in favour of pondering how best to achieve this distasteful result, and swiftly cut in before Leonard could build upon the necessary heat to best admonish him.

“Bones, I don’t plan to sleep with her.”

“Yeah, sure. And I’m an expert in Orion ballet.”

Jim rolled his eyes but made no further efforts to justify the purity of his intentions towards Dr. Rand. He knew when an argument was lost and simply nodded obediently when Bones warned him against leading the poor lady on, before taking his leave of him to, presumably, do just what he had agreed against.

Dr. McCoy shook his head as he watched Kirk walk briskly away, hoping, for her sake, that Janice had the sense not to fall for his good charms alone. A small part of his mind recalled back to Jim’s odd behavior at first having met the lady, but he hardly dared hope that he might, at last, be opening up to the idea of commitment, leaving Janice’s even-mindedness was his only source of comfort in the matter. He was but four feet away from the ballroom’s exit when he was once again accompanied by Nurse Chapel, who was flushed but beaming.

“Leaving so soon, Doctor?” She asked, and Leonard was glad to see that her mood had not been soured by the disagreeable time she had spent with the professor. While she had only been beside him for a little over ten minutes, one’s humour could, as Dr. McCoy had just learnt, become envenomed in much sooner a time by the plain Vulcan incivility that rolled so easily off Mr. Spock’s tongue. 

He affirmed Christine’s presumption and she, with gleeful cheek, as though sensing her partner’s ire towards the professor, furthered their conversation by asking after Mr. Spock.

“Not going to spend more time getting to know the good professor, I’m supposing?”

Leonard’s scowl deepened impressively, and he mutinously declared his desire to become better acquainted with the Vulcan under the blade of a medieval 21st century scalpel, which made Christine laugh quite merrily, as she evidently shared his opinion regarding Mr. Spock.

“Shame,” she said, blue eyes twinkling mischievously, “he’s so very handsome.”

“You need your eyes checked, Nurse?”

“He is! Unfortunately, he’s also a prick.”

That reminded the doctor of the colourful description of the kind of man he had, in retrospect, more blatantly accused— rather than implied, as he had originally meant to— the Vulcan of being, and he snorted in laughter before relaying his version of the final moments of the dinner to her, carefully omitting Spock’s hurtful, personal judgement of her. When he finished, Nurse Chapel’s eyes were quite wide and her head was shaking almost of its own volition.

“I can’t believe he would say that.” She turned to him, her eyes now wide with something akin to fear and wonder, “I can’t believe _you_ said that.”

“You would’ve.”

“Yes, but not to his face. You could get into a lot of trouble for that, Leonard.”

“I’m not too worried. The man’s so cold-blooded, he wouldn’t know offense if it came and smacked him on the upside of his head.”

In spite of herself, a small smile snuck onto her features as she asked, “Like you wanted to do?”

He grinned back down. “Exactly.”

They continued on their defamation of Mr. Spock’s character until they were halfway down the halls of the Academy’s dormitories, Nurse Chapel significantly less malicious than the doctor and his barbed insults, afore the conversation turned to a more disquieting and pressing, matter: Jim and his newly found affiliation with their Janice.

“You don’t suppose he could be serious about her, do you?”

“Jim Kirk? In a serious relationship? Not a chance in hell.”

“You sound confident.”

“Jim’s a good guy, Christine, he really is. But I ain’t about to stand around and say he’d make a good monogamous partner when everyone and their dog’s had a go with him.”

Christine bit her lower lip in worry, falling silent, and Leonard, feeling a touch guilty at causing her concern, added that he believed Janice to be appropriately knowledgeable of the boy’s habits, and would not allow herself to become another name to his long list of dalliances unless she so desired it. This seemed to soothe Nurse Chapel’s nerves to a satisfactory degree, and she bid her friend goodnight without further enquiry, retiring to her quarters. Leonard did the same, but did not fall asleep till a long time after, his mind occupied by unfeeling Vulcans and misguided relationships.  



	2. Of Cattails and Olive Branches

Chapter Character List

  * **Leonard Horatio McCoy** in the role of **Miss Elizabeth Bennet**
  * **S'chn T'gai Spock** in the role of **Fitzwilliam Darcy**
  * **Janice Rand** in the role of **Miss Jane Bennet**
  * **James Tiberius Kirk** in the role of **Charles Bingle**
  * **Christine Chapel** replacing **Miss Lydia Bennet**
  * **Nyota Uhura** replacing **Miss Bingley**



**~.~**

"Have you seen Janice?'

Dr. McCoy looked up at the harrowed face of Nurse Chapel over the rim of his mug, taking in the sight of the usually composed and coordinated attendant’s stray curls and reddened skin that told him more of her fluster than the tight highness of her otherwise levelled voice ever could. He swallowed his mouthful of extremely bitter coffee and blinked owlishly at Christine, whose impatience grew with every second of silence.

“She usually comes in with you, Christine. Not me.”

Giving him a hard look, the nurse sat herself heavily down in the seat opposite to his, chewing rather quickly and extremely thoroughly on her breakfast fruit, while hardly troubling herself to conceal the sharp clicking sound produced by her upper row of teeth rhythmically hitting her lower in vengeful mastication.

“I rang at her door, but she wasn’t in.” She threw McCoy a worried, meaningful glance and lowered her voice conspiratorially, “You don’t think she actually spent it with Kirk, do you?”

McCoy shrugged, but set his cup down at last, realizing with slight regret he would not be able to dismiss this conversation through noncommittal hums and nods.

“Maybe,” he allowed without further elaboration. Having bothered himself over the possibility of a lapse in Janice’s judgement half the night through, he found that he was not quite as adverse to the idea as he had been the evening prior. Dr. Rand was, after all, a grown woman and a very stalwart one at that. He had full faith in her ability to gather herself back together after any sort of heartbreak, regardless of the suddenness or tactlessness of its execution.

Of course, there was also the probability that he was just too tired to care at the moment.

Unfortunately, Nurse Chapel seemed very well-rested and, while this would usually be a welcomed in a location such as the Sick Bay, it was not at all enjoyable to Dr. McCoy before he’d finished his morning shot of caffeine, and he listened with only a slight interest as she barraged him with tales of Jim’s notorious dalliances, most of which he knew to be mere exaggerations and some of which he knew were made up by the boy himself. He did not have to fake concentration for long, however, as the infamous man himself strolled into the cafeteria shortly after Christine’s spiel had begun. As he’d expected, Janice was by his side, but McCoy found his gaze drawn instead to the man she seemed to be in deep conversation with. A man with unmistakably tapered ears.

“… Yes, but, surely, some Vulcans must understand the benefits of occasionally giving in to emotion?  Of the catharsis and clarity of mind such freedom provides?”

“To do so voluntarily would be an exhibition of disloyalty against the teachings of Surak, however you are correct in your believe that some Vulcans have chosen such a life, and that their choice, regardless of how illogical and inadvisable it may be, is often deemed acceptable by the Vulcan High Command.”

“How is she managing that?” Whispered Nurse Chapel in wonder as she watched the trio make their slow approach to their table, Jim having caught Dr. McCoy’s eye after a momentary sweep about the room. “There’s a reason she’s the psychiatrist instead of you and me, Nurse,” muttered the doctor in return, his eyes never leaving Lieutenant-Commander Spock as his mind whirred with a manner of ways to best conduct himself around the man. It would not do to be outwardly antagonistic towards him a second time, but he needn’t make an attempt at falsified conviviality, either. When the company was about four strides away, he finally came to the conclusion that, unless the professor made a direct attempt to address him (which Leonard was thankfully assured he wouldn’t), he would elect to ignore him.

“Morning, Bones,” greeted Jim as he touched the doctor’s shoulder briefly before sliding into the seat beside him. “Hey-a, Chistine.” She smiled, then looked toward Janice who had paused in her discussion with Mr. Spock to apologise for not allowing her into her quarters earlier.

“I overslept,” she explained with a small frown, “I was in the shower when you rang.”          

“Did you oversleep, too, Jim?” Dr. McCoy asked sarcastically under his breath, earning a highly offended look from the man which made him snort. He noticed Mr. Spock watching them curiously from the corner of his eye, but determinedly avoided looking anywhere near his general proximity, drinking from his cup deeply. Strange how he had found himself drinking during both occasions whereby he was forced into company around the man. He quite suspected the pattern would continue for a while yet.

“I did,” said Jim tersely, looking at his friend with a flat expression, “But it has nothing to do with her.” He spoke the latter half of his response in a hushed voice so as to save Janice the embarrassment, but it made little difference as the three opposite them were now engaged in some serious conference or another, one that was mostly engaged by Rand and Spock but held the attention of Nurse Chapel, nevertheless. McCoy felt a deep rush of affection and gratitude towards Dr. Rand, and allowed himself to relax his posture a little further, feeling the danger of being locked into conversation with the Vulcan recede slightly.

“Shot you down, huh?” His lips quirked upwards with satisfaction as he tipped his head in the vague direction of Mr. Spock, “’S that why she’s talking to him instead of you?”

“No. I didn’t ask. Suggest. Invite. Whatever.” Jim waved his hand impatiently before turning an injured look toward his friend, “I told you I wouldn’t. Why doesn’t anyone believe me?” McCoy snorted, but made no verbal answer, which seemed to be answer enough.

“Jim, do you remember the name of the supply store we passed yesterday? The one I said Christine would like?” Came Janice’s voice suddenly, immediately capturing Jim’s undivided attention. McCoy rolled his eyes and continued eating before belatedly realizing that he had effectively locked himself out of conversation with either of his favoured acquaintances, causing him to still all motion entirely.

He hastened his endeavours, but after having successfully swallowed but three mouthfuls of his breakfast in rapid succession, the doctor’s persistent muteness was rendered over by that cool, levelled, infuriatingly monotonous voice of Mr. Spock’s, which instantly conjured a number of colourful words in the Cadet's mind.

“Dr. McCoy.”

“Mr. Spock.” He did not meet the professor’s eye, but did resist the overwhelming urge he had to roll his own, so the reception, Dr. McCoy felt, was quite fair. The resulting silence that followed, however, was enough to tempt him to look towards his converser and to even provide him with a better, though caustically biting, reply as he considered the thoughtful expression plaguing the other’s face.

“Got more wise judgements you’d like to pass on my profession today?”

To Dr. McCoy’s profound gratification, he saw the slightest twitch in Mr. Spock’s composed disposition, as though the doctor had reached over and struck him, and relished in the fact that it took him a minute longer than usual to come up with any sort of rejoinder. He now looked at the professor directly in a fashion that almost seemed a challenge.

“I… find that my opinion is tainted by my personal history with other members from your profession, Doctor,” he said slowly, lifting his gaze from the corner of the table to meet McCoy’s critical eye, “therefore I believe that I should reserve any judgement I might have on you and your department until after I have had the opportunity to better acquaint myself with your practices.”

If Dr. McCoy was surprised by this admission to careless presupposition on Mr. Spock's part, or affected in any other way by it at all, he hid it from the other man well, only allowing a light scoff to escape him before he returned to his food without another word. Finding no graceful way to ascertain whether the doctor considered the matter settled or otherwise, the Vulcan, too, fell silent.

“Seems that'll be sooner than you think.”

Spock looked back up, arching his brow questioningly towards Dr. McCoy.

“I’ve been studying up on Vulcan biology lately. If you really wanna know so much 'bout Starfleet’s medical procedures, I'd suggest getting yourself down there sometime. God knows it’d help with our research.”

(By “lately” Dr. McCoy meant that he’d began truly looking into the matter last night, and by “studying up” he meant that he’d been in pursuit of possible methods to incapacitate a Vulcan without being in danger of breaking his Hippocratic Oath, but he saw no reason to detail these aspects of his research to the Vulcan before him.)

 (He had been perfectly literal when he’d said that it would be most helpful to have Mr. Spock assist the Med team in their study, however: the officiated medical texts on their species were shockingly few.)

Mr. Spock considered the doctor's proclamation for several seconds, appearing to struggle with something internally before finally admitting, “I do not think my physiology will be of much academic value to the Medical Department in that field, Doctor. I am, you see, only half Vulcan. My mother is human.”

Dr. McCoy's eyes darted to meet the Lieutenant-Commander's own for a brief moment, before flitting away again, his eyebrows lifting as a secret thought passed through his mind. Mr. Spock felt the same peculiar urge he had felt the night prior, the urge to draw forth the doctor's innermost introspection to keep and hold, and be enthralled or hurt by. It was a dangerous sort of thought, but it gnawed at him in the deepest pit of his stomach and whispered at the edges of his mind, filling him with an anxiety that, though was temped down by the affects of his mental exercises, refused to leave him be. Not for the first time in his life, Spock found himself dreading the effects the revelation of his background would bring, an old familiar sting throbbing in the nook his arm, causing him to involuntarily close his fingers around themselves.

“That’s probably better for us, actually,” said Dr. McCoy after what felt like an eternity, though Spock knew, logically, could not have been more than seven seconds. His mind went blank in a way that he had thought only a powerful mental exercise, or a profoundly stupid statement, could do and for several seconds, the only motion he seemed capable of performing was to blink, utterly bewildered, at the other man.

“I fail to see how,” he said unsurely, certain that this would be some sort of ruse on the doctor's part. “Wouldn’t the least amount of difference in the test subject—”

“Patient.”

“-- and the species you are studying provide for more accurate readings?”

“Most of the time, yeah,” acquiesced McCoy, pointing the teeth of his fork at the Vulcan, a gesture which he knew most humans considered to be impolite but seemed to bear no such implication from the man before him. “But judgin' by how many more Vulcans have decided that Earth's about as pleasant as a sunny day in May lately, I'd say results like yours would be pretty damn helpful about now.”

Mr. Spock took these words into consideration, turning them over in his mind in silence as the doctor's unrelenting stare bore into him. It was true that, of the many dignitaries that had been brought to the planet by the Valiant, a good majority of them were Vulcans; a point which the doctor indubitably desired explanation, yet was one that he was not authorized to provide. After a minute's pondering, he decided to distract from the issue by stating, quite matter-of-factly, that “The seeking and arbitrary judgement of what one finds to be 'pleasurable', Doctor, is a distinctly human vice.”

Such an address, from Spock’s observations, in frank admission of the species' faults, would often lead a human to grow offended and cut off communication entirely; but, from his study of Dr. McCoy's own brash nature and the daily banter exchanged with Jim, he had concluded that the doctor would either proffer him a curt, possibly derogatory, response, or simply confirm what he understood of human nature and their aversion to confrontation and criticism.

Dr. McCoy seemed fleetingly struck dumb, but did not give cause for disappointment as he soon snapped, appearing to quite forget whom he was addressing, “Don’t get smart with me.”

“I assure you, Doctor, my intellectual capabilities are in no way improved or otherwise affected by your presence. I am always smart.”

Leonard almost laughed. Almost. But he managed to suppress his grin and disguise the light bubble of a chuckle that escaped him as an irritable sigh of exasperation that seemed to keep everything quite in order. However, despite his best efforts, Mr. Spock had caught sight of the undisguisable spark of amused mirth in his dark eyes just a moment before he had turned away, and was filled with warm, implacable gratification. Spurred on by his success, he approached the doctor again.

“While your observation of my species’ newfound appreciation of Earth is correct, I believe it comes from an entirely logical standpoint. Earth possesses a number of similarities to Vulcan and even a few advantages.“

“A point which pains you to admit, I bet.”

“Hardly. I have long since understood the practical benefits to living on Earth. Onto your belief that the increased Vulcan population on this planet will lead to an elevation in the number of half-human, half-Vulcan offspring, however, I express my doubts.”

“Oh, yeah?” Dr. McCoy arched his brow in challenge. “And why is that?”

“Vulcans consider emotion to be one of the many faults of other species. Humans, being highly emotional, are unlikely to be very attractive to them as prospective mates.”

The doctor did not reply, simply studying him in the same unnerving manner he had before. Finally, he simply said, with a fair amount of distance, “Well, that’s all the better for humanity, ain’t it?”

The rest of the breakfast was spent in silence on both their parts, with Mr. Spock feeling certain that he had somehow killed the conversation though he was not sure how. He was grateful when Jim declared a little later that they had best leave lest they risk being late for class. The Cadets left for the West Wing of the Academy, where most of their classes were held, while Mr. Spock departed for the upper floor as he needed to gather his materials from the staff room. As he walked, he found his mind wandering back to the doctor’s observation and request, his mind clouded with bitter uncertainty.

Jim nudged Leonard’s arm in greeting with his own as they walked away from the hall they had just ended class in. While many of their classes were separate, partially due to the fact that the two were in different majors, partially due to Kirk being part of the Red Squad, they still shared some subjects due to the closeness of their two fields of study, Exoarchaelogy and Xenobiology. The class they had just attended, Interspecies Ethics, was equally despised by the two, though for vastly different reasons.

“I can’t believe I got that stupid question wrong just because I went against some dumb fucking regulation. It's a fucking outdated law!”

“And I can’t believe I still have to take this class. I don’t need to know that it’s offensive to offer fruit to an Antican to know how to hypo them.”

Their conversation continued in such a style for several more minutes, before it fell into comfortable silence. “What d'you have next?” asked Leonard after a bit as Jim flipped rapidly through his PADD, typing quickly. He lifted the screen to Dr. McCoy's face momentarily. On it were a number of varying symbols and incomprehensible words that Jim was hurriedly translating into the Standard language of the Federation.

“Phenology,” he explained with a grimace at the doctor's furrowed expression. Despite being the Treasurer of the Academy's Xenolinguistics club, Jim tended to have a cavalier approach to the class itself, proclaiming the subject matter too simple for the level boasted by the Academy. Leonard had no guesses as to whether this was the truth or a mere excuse to him not taking the subject seriously, but, whenever he brought it up, he made haste to always point out that Jim still held only the second highest score in the class.

“Think we've got some quiz or another today,” he continued as he returned to his PADD, “Least Uhura will be there.”

Cadet Uhura was the current defender of the highest score in Xenolinguistics and the lady whom Jim Kirk had been pursuing from the start of his course at the Academy. Their relationship, from McCoy's little knowledge, was complicated at best, with Jim attempting to court her at every possible turn and her deflecting his attempts with as much acerbity as she could muster without actually hurting him. Prior to whatever it was Jim had struck up with Janice, Leonard had always secretly thought that he would eventually begin dating her.

“The Vulcan will be there too, won't he?” he asked in passing. Jim paused and threw him an odd look before replying with a small shrug.

“Yeah, Spock'll be there. Why?”

McCoy only returned the motion, saying nothing more on the matter. Jim, however, was far from ready to allow the topic to fade, as he never was.

“How'd it go with him, anyway? You two actually looked like you weren’t gonna rip each other’s throats out this morning.”

Bones scoffed. “Don’t hold your breath. He sort of apologized for being an ass. More of made excuses, really” he added with another half shrug, eyeing the younger man from the corner of his gaze, “but I'm guessing you already knew that.”

“I may have implied that he should,” Jim evaded easily before breaking into a wide grin, “but he's all right when he wants to be, right?”

Refusing to be quite so easily mollified and definitely not about to admit that, for half a second, he had almost enjoyed talking to the professor, McCoy simply gritted that he wasn't so sure yet, to which Jim made a face but did not argue.

“What do you have?”

“Biochemistry,” replied Bones, then, recalling Jim's comment on Uhura, added with great feeling, “with _Janice_.”

Jim nodded, but made no comment on the emphasis or even showed that he had heard it. His fingers had paused in their quick motions and he was muttering something under his breath, his shoulders tense. Bones reached over and hit his clenched fist on a point near the boy's shoulder blades which made his shoulders sag with a sharp exclamation of pain that attracted the attention of several passing students. At Jim's look of annoyance, Bones innocently said, “You’d’ve gotten cramps.”

“And you couldn’t just tell me?”

“You’d just go back to it the moment I left. At least now you can’t for the next ten minutes.” He pointed at an upcoming escalator on their left. “I’m heading up there. See you later?”

“Yup,” the blond affirmed, pronouncing the 'p' with a pop of his usual sunniness that was only diminished by the small thread of annoyance still present in his forehead. He glared at his PADD for a beat longer before stashing it away with a matter of something that sounded suspiciously like, “I’ll just ask Uhura.”

“Oh, yeah,” he added just as McCoy stepped onto the moving steps, “Meet me at the Cattail, won’t you?”

“We have our mid-sems coming soon,” scowled Bones over the banister, protesting to his friend's mostly unresponsive back.

“We haven’t had the chance to celebrate me still being alive!” He turned his head to the side with a wry, playful grin. “I know how glad you are I am.”

“You won’t be for very long if I fail.”

“Love you, too, Bones. I'll see you at eight!”

Cattail Bar and Diner was a Benzite run taphouse that overlooked the Golden Gate Bridge some distance away from the Academy. It was remarkably popular with humans and aliens alike, almost always filled by the clamour of a mass of different races all comfortably enjoying themselves, which made it a good place to study varying cultures and habits beyond Academy grounds, as many Cadets had quickly figured. However, despite the number of times Bones had found himself seated at the overcrowded, noisy bar, often propping up an extremely inebriated Jim, he had never once seen a Vulcan there. That was, of course, until that night.

“Let me get this straight,” he said, a thin irritated smile plastered on to his face as he leaned close to Jim, “You wanted to get away from the Academy's stodgy old codgers so you organised your own gala and invited the stodgiest, most priggish of their professors? What the hell is wrong with you?”

Jim smiled indolently at him, having drunk a couple of shots of Ferengi malt before arriving, and gestured vaguely at the Vulcan. “Give 'im a break, Bones. He needs to lighten up a bit sometimes. It’s good for him, you know that.”

McCoy turned his attention briefly towards Mr. Spock whose eyes were trained somewhere far above the heads of the other patrons, his body rigid and his expression wiped completely blank aside from the slightly appalled glint that appeared in his eyes whenever he was engaged by some gyrating figure or another. Beside him, Cadet Uhura was whispering something under her breath, apparently attempting to both capture the professor's attention and soothe him with seemingly little affect. The man's mouth remained a straight, pursed line for a majority of her speech, only parting in brief bursts of conversation to flatly deny the advances of others or to provide her with some short reprise.

 “He looks about as relaxed as a pig at the slaughter.” Bones stated drily, but Jim only waved him aside, turning his gaze outside towards the vast, star speckled sky that unfurled over the city’s own neon lightshow, far simpler and far more radiant. Jim had been behaving peculiarly the whole night, something which had not gone beyond Leonard’s notice. Him arriving slightly tipsy before he had had the opportunity to swallow the rest of his company in his boisterous insouciance had been but the beginning of a series of uncharacteristic behavior by the boy, followed by him pinning himself to the innermost part of the restaurant’s divan and hardly saying a word to anyone, much less flirting with the attractive waitresses who were more than familiar with him and his focused affections. Leonard knew that Jim only went into bouts of quiet contemplation whenever there was something occupying his thoughts, but, as he had invited a whole party of people rather than simply waltzing into the doctor’s quarters on his own, he figured Jim intended to only tell him of his ponderings once he was wholly ebrious or a few days later, after he had thought himself half to death without avail. Until he was ready, Leonard would not press.

Instead, he returned his attention, with some amusement, to watch Cadet Uhura try with persistent non-success to prise Mr. Spock from his impenetrable shell of stony discomfort and silence while simultaneously attempting to ward off the Sulus and their very public displays of affection without shoving Hikaru entirely off the seat. Not that that would have had much of a result.

Before he had known better, Leonard had requested Hikaru’s assistance with his Flight Control classes, before quickly learning that having Hikaru around during non-academic hours almost always included his husband’s presence, and, while there was no contesting the fact that Ben was a lovely man and the two made for a very fetching couple, there remained the truth that they had never moved past the honeymoon stages of their relationship nor had ever adopted, or even considered, Leonard’s attitude towards excessive displays of  public displays of affection. Regardless, Leonard made it a point to never complain, knowing all too well the pains of drifting apart and internalizing the fact that, simply because his most serious relationship had ended in fire and brimstone, it hardly meant that anyone else’s shouldn’t be as loving or as openly doting as they pleased.

Briefly, Cadet Uhura caught his eye, and flicked her gaze in a desperate plea between Hikaru, Spock, and himself. Suddenly, it became very clear to Leonard why she had never paid heed to Jim’s advances, her focus on her studies and self-respect notwithstanding. He eyed Mr. Spock for a moment, then grinned as an idea took hold of him. If there was but a single thing that could attract the attention of intellectuals like the professor, it was the dispersal of blatantly false information stated with such conviction they might be taken as fact.

“So, Miss Uhura,” said McCoy, leaning forward to rest his chin atop his propped up arm with a slight grin, “Did you know that Tholians smother their young in their web and leave them in active volcanoes to test whether they’d survive their harsh living conditions?”

The Cadet’s eyes widened comically as her eyebrow shot up in near perfect emulation of her… Lover? Friend? Object of unrequited admiration? In any case, should Mr. Spock have arched his own brow in unison with hers, they would have been nearly identical in their incredulity. However, his head had only quirked slightly in Leonard's direction, eyebrows almost knitting together before quickly relaxing back into their usual slant, smothering the slightest bit of emotion that had threatened to ruin his perfect Vulcan facade of apathy. No matter, Leonard had plenty of time to instigate some sort of reaction from him.

“You’re drunk,” proclaimed Cadet Uhura flatly, her long lashes casting soft shadows beneath her narrowed eyes like those of low hanging branches of the willow tree over still waters. Dr. McCoy felt a bit affronted by the accusation, having drunk far less than what he was often capable of, but the fact that she found the statement absurd enough to assume the such meant only positive things for his venture, so he did not take measures to defend himself, only waving her concerns aside.

“No, really,” he insisted, nodding his head for emphasis. “They wrap their eggs up nice and snug in their web, then, whoosh!” He swiped his index finger swiftly through the air in a small movement, Uhura’s dark eyes watching it with growing anxiety as she no doubt believed that she had sought the assistance of the man with least amount of wit at the table, even with Jim Kirk right next to him. “Into the lava they go. That’s actually how most Tholian silk is obtained actually: by dropping into the pits with the eggs and unraveling ‘em.”

“That would explain how so many people die trying to get to them,” piped Jim with a slight grin, having caught onto the doctor’s little game quite easily. He threw a wink at Uhura, and she sat a little straighter, eyes widening, before she quickly corrected her posture and began nodding herself.

“That is interesting,” she agreed enthusiastically, and had to stop herself from bursting out into laughter at the small jerk Spock gave beside her, his pupils flicking down disbelievingly. “I never knew that. What other wonders on Tholian behavior have been unearthed, Doctor?”

“Well, contrary to popular belief, Tholians are actually much larger than an average man,” McCoy said, leaning back and pressing his fingertips together as all but Spock had begun watching him in amusement, “Y’know those spindly little twigs they’ve got at the end of each of their legs?”

“Their feet?” asked Hikaru, biting back a smile.

Leonard leant forward in a quick show of melodrama, holding his finger out to the man beside him. “See,” he said lowly, “that’s what they _want_ you to think. They’re actually extensions. The only reason they don’t use ‘em is because one little flick on any of those things and their whole body keels over like an untrained Tholian infant in the blazing heat.”

At last, Mr. Spock looked at him, his eyes having regained their usual focused, judgmental air, all the more pronounced now than ever before.

“Dr. McCoy, I do not mean to doubt your knowledge on the species, but I must bring into question the nature behind your epistemics. They are most… Illogical.” The professor’s brows were furrowed now, whether he knew it or not, and his head was tipped in the way that made him look like a severe mother. Or, more aptly, a disappointed teacher. McCoy had to hide his lips behind his propped up fist, the crinkling at the corners of his eyes nearly giving him away regardless.

“That so?” he managed, disguising his laugh in a graceless cough.

“Indeed,” returned Mr. Spock, his eyes darting away before looking back at him, seeming to have steeled his resolve. “Might I ask by what means you have obtained your information.”

“Well,” Leonard replied, removing his hand and smiling openly at the now bewildered professor, “Christine calls it ‘practical psychology’. I call it bullshitting.”

That gave means for the others to break their thin facades of mock seriousness, and not a moment too soon, either, as Jim looked as though he had been about to burst from the effort of holding in his gasps of laughter. Mr. Spock, however still looked quite nonplussed, and McCoy saw Uhura taking pity on him and explaining the matter to him in fairly stable speech, which finally gave cause for his gaze to return to its usual standoffishness, though lacking in the faraway meditation it had been consumed by before. Leonard also noticed that the tips of the professor’s ears had undertaken a faint, minty colouration, but found that he had no desire to point it out, instead taking a sip of his blue tinged drink and turning away.

Once the laughter had died away, Mr. Spock returned his equanimous gaze to the doctor, arching his brow as he spoke. “I owe you my gratitude, Doctor. Cadet Uhura has brought it to my attention that you only came to such ludicrous conclusions as you had noticed my… Discomfort in so different an environment.” He blinked slowly at Leonard, and, while his expression did not alter, the doctor had no doubt that he felt terribly self-satisfied at being able to illicit so positive an act from him. The knowledge was peculiar to him, only slightly due to the fact that he was certain that ‘smugness’ was a distinctly human emotion.

“Well, Uhura’s wrong,” he said swiftly, his tone defensive in a manner quite telling of the contrary, a fact which troubled him more than he cared to admit. Pettiness was a flaw that Leonard would have liked to think he had outgrown years before, but he knew better than to think it true. Yet, it was not simple small-mindedness that urged him so vehemently to distance himself from the Vulcan, but the sheer realization that, under the right circumstances, barring the multitude of deficiencies he possessed, he could find himself quite liking Mr. Spock. More so than he probably should have. “I didn’t do it for you; I did it for her.”

Spock’s lips twitched and his eyes swept briefly over to the woman beside him as she quickly looked away, refusing to allow him to glean anything from her disposition. “I fail to see the connection between my perturbation and Cadet Uhura’s being.”

“Yeah, well, neither do I.” replied McCoy in his normal mutter as he rolled his eyes and turned away, failing to see the momentary cloud of dismay that had briefly masked the Vulcan’s features before he had resumed his own usual appearance. He was about to offer some rejoinder, when Jim briskly interrupted with an invitation to the doctor to dance.

“No way,” growled Leonard, eyebrows drawn tight as he pushed himself deeper into his seat to compensate for the younger man pulling resolutely at his arm.

“C’mon, it’ll be fun!” proclaimed Jim with a mischievous grin, though it was one that did not quite reach his eyes.

“You’ve got about as much control as a newborn lamb. No.”

“Sure. _That’s_ why you don’t want to dance.” Jim’s smile widened and McCoy’s frown deepened to match it.

“You can try goading as much as you want, kid. Not happening.”

“The doctor’s supposed to be notoriously good at dancing,” Hikaru explained to Ben as he observed the scene, his hand resting on his partner’s comfortably. “But nobody’s seen him except Jim because he wouldn’t stop talking about it after he did.” Hikaru leaned towards his husband with a smirk, the blinking neon lights reflected in his gaze. “He said it was the classiest act of seduction he’d ever bore witness to.”

“Aside from himself,” Ben added with a teasing grin at the blonde’s expense, but pulled Hikaru up and laced his arms around the other’s waist as Uhura turned decidedly elsewhere. “Well we can’t have him outdoing us, can we?” Hikaru smiled as their lips connected, allowing himself to be guided into the crowd. Seeing his opportunity, Leonard sprung upwards.

“Right. I’m gonna leave while I still can,” he declared, sliding out of the seat and shaking Jim loose. The latter jutted his lower lip out at him in silent complaint, but did not voice them. Opposite him, Uhura, too, rose, extending her lithe arms in front of herself. “I should go, too,” she agreed, as she slid the strap of her bag onto her shoulder and cast an anticipatory look towards her professor.

“Oh, no, you don’t.” said Jim loudly, stopping short of reaching over to hold Spock in place, but making it quite clear that he had no qualms about doing so if he deemed it necessary. “You’re not leaving me alone with the two people most in love with each other since Aukai and Kirone.” Spock’s expression clearly told of his ignorance to the manner of the expression, a fact which caused Jim to appear highly affronted by, but did not leave once he had allowed Uhura to pass.

“I believe it would be in Cadet Kirk’s best interest if I were to remain with him. He appears quite intoxicated,” he explained, his hands folded behind his back. His tone retained its monotonous note, but McCoy could hear the touch of apology in them and was hardly surprised when Uhura’s fingers brushed the professor’s sleeve in farewell. Spock nodded to her then turned to him, his expression unreadable, but gaze lingering for longer than it should have. Leonard made the decision for him, wishing him a quick goodnight, which he returned, though in a voice that was lower and softer, seeming to be weighed down by all the various things he did not know how to say.

“What did you wish to tell me,” Spock asked Kirk once they were by their lonesome, dismissing all other thought entirely for the serious matter at hand.

“You don’t know who Aukai and Kirone are?”

“Jim.”

“Right, sorry.” He ran his hand through his hair, ruffling it messily, which, naturally, suited him just as well as his usual style did. However, there was something in the motion, perhaps the manner in which it was done with so little intent or purpose, that suddenly told greatly of the Cadet’s exhaustion. He slid lower in his seat, and blinked a few times before looking back up, eyes sombre, to Spock.

“Captain Pike sent me a holo-message yesterday. You need to assign me to go with him again on the next mission.”

Spock considered this for a moment before nodding. “Acknowledged.”

Jim gave him a short half-hearted quirk of his lips before sinking his head back against the cushion with a long groan. “I can’t wait for this to be over,” he confessed to the ceiling, apparently, but Spock answered regardless.

“I thought you quite enjoyed covert missions, Cadet.”

“Not when they involve diplomats and shit.” He had not dropped his chin yet, so Spock could not make out his features, but he knew that Jim had on an expression of utter disgust. The familiarity almost made the professor smile.

“We don’t even know if it’s a real threat. It could’ve just been a fluke.”

Spock tilted his head curiously and remarked, “I do not believe that “flukes” often lead to the lives of those closest to the presumed target being put in danger, Cadet.”

This made Jim meet his eye, smiling faintly. On any other person, the time spent between his interval of solemnity and cheerfulness, would be inconsequential, but, with Jim, it had felt like an eternity. “Yeah, but it wasn’t much of any danger, thanks to you, was it? Had to go steal my thunder.”

The Vulcan turned his gaze downward and the closest equivalent he allowed himself to a smile lingered his tranquil expression. He folded his hands neatly in his lap and looked, subconsciously, to the exit as the silence prolonged between them, though not uncomfortably so.

“Bones would kill me if he found out.” Jim mused, then, as though recalling something (but probably had been meaning to bring it up since the beginning of their conversation), looked to Spock with a slight frown. “You know, he asked about you this afternoon.”

Spock stilled in his seat momentarily, then forced himself to resume his normal position, his not-smile vanishing from his lips. “What did he wish to know?”

“Just whether you’d be in class. What’s going on with you two anyway? And don’t say nothing, Spock, because we both know that’s not true.” For a moment, Jim appeared worried, and, when he continued, his voice sounded fragile. “You don’t hate him or anything, do you? He’s not like the ones you knew before, I promise.”

Meeting Jim’s large eyes, Spock wasted no time in pondering his answer. There was no need since he was already aware of his thoughts regarding the doctor and quickly laid rest to Jim’s unnecessary perturbations. “Hate is a very human emotion, Jim,” he criticized, then pretended to not notice the way Jim’s blues looked towards the ceiling in silent plea. “So, no. I do not ‘hate’ Dr. McCoy, neither do I dislike him. As to your second statement.” He paused, then shook his head slowly, “I am fully aware of the fact that the doctor is a separate entity from those I have met before.”

The look of mild irritation that had settled on Jim’s features did not dissipate, but, Spock noted with mild relief, that the tenseness of his shoulders, which the Vulcan understood as being caused predominantly by worry in emotional creatures such as humans, was gone. However, he was still looking at Spock with unvoiced expectation, one of the many infuriating characteristics of humans that he had found difficult to adapt to when he had first arrived on earth, but found that he was now quite adept at understanding. “I simply find Dr. McCoy to be…”

Incomprehensible. Illogical. Emotional. Stubborn. Cantankerous.

_Enigmatic. Forgiving. Protective. Brilliant._

“Fascinating.”

_Beautiful._

Jim nodded, his brow arched and eyes half-lidded, unimpressed. “Fascinating,” he repeated, “ri-i-i-ight.” Then, under his breath, but loud enough for Spock to hear, “Just don’t say that to his face.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Bet you thought this wasn't gonna update till next year- it's ok i'm surprised too-) 
> 
> Hey, guys! Thank you so much to everyone who has left a comment, kudos, followed, or just given this story a chance, it really means a lot! :D I hope you enjoyed this chapter. 
> 
> So, for those of you who have read my other works, I think it's quite obvious that this isn't my usual style of writing. When I thought of this series, I originally wanted the style to emulate the old, period piece style of writing. It takes longer than it usually does for me to write like that since I have to change things to suit the style I'm going for while editing, and I was wondering what your thoughts were on the style in general, please? Should I keep it like this, and potentially take longer in getting out chapters, or would returning to my usual, more lyrical style work better do you think?  
> Or should I attempt mixing the two? If you have any thoughts on the matter, please let me know. Have a lovely day everyone!

**Author's Note:**

> So, I got weirdly into Star Trek lately and, in particular, Spones. They were ractically made for a P&P AU, but, when I looked it up, couldn't find any for them so I figured I'd take a crack at it. Jan and Jim kinda just happened because I love them together too. Jan as a counsellor came from something her actress said when asked about her role in the original movies. I set this around the end of their second year, so I don't think Spock has reached Commander status yet. If you couldn't tell already, this fic is super self indulgent and just for fun, but I would really appreciate any critique. It's my first time doing something more narrative based and I know I have weird pacing, so any advice would be very helpful. Thank you for reading!


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